Adriana couldn’t believe what was before her eyes. Her father’s basement looked like a war room for a small government’s military. Several computer monitors sat in a cluster in one corner of the room, each screen displaying something different. One was showing a live broadcast of CNN. Another one was a direct feed to the BBC and the others…. She wasn’t sure what those were doing. They looked like some kind of surveillance feeds. “Where are those coming from?” she asked as she stepped slowly over to the array of LCD screens.
Her father had made his way over to a counter where he kept a small supply of liquor. A cigar box made from reddish wood sat at one end of the little bar. He was busy pouring two short glasses of tequila when she raised the question. So he turned and looked in her direction as he finished pouring the drinks. “Depends,” he stated flatly.
“On what?” she asked as she leaned over and tried to get a closer look at what she was seeing on the screen.
He picked up the glasses and took one over to Adriana and offered it with an extended hand. “It depends on which monitor you’re talking about,” he smiled as she grasped the drink from him, a little uncertain. “Salud,” he said as he raised the glass to her. “It is good to see you again, daughter.”
She raised her glass as well and said nothing. They both finished their drink in a few quick gulps. He took the empty glass away from her and set it on a nearby bookshelf.
“You see,” he said as he pointed to some of the screens, “I’m getting surveillance from several different places. Some of them are here, in Cuenca. Others are coming in from all over the place. The United States, Russian, Brazil. China is a little tougher to get, but I’ve got a few there, too.”
Adriana stared hard at all of the technology in the room. A rack of servers sat humming quietly in a small closet nearby. A few laptops lay on a table. Cords and wires ran all over the place, behind the workstations and along the wall. “Why?” she asked after a few moments of awed silence. “I thought you quit doing all of this a long time ago. Who are you working for now?”
He looked at her with a sincere expression. A thick cigar hung between his fingers.
“My sweetheart, I’m not working for anyone anymore,” he ignited a butane lighter and held the end of the cigar near the flame, rotating it slowly until the entire tip had turned bright orange. He brought it to his mouth and took a few quick puffs sending bluish-gray smoke drifting slowly toward a vent on the side of the room.
She looked more confused than before. “What do you mean you’re not working for anyone? What is all this?” Her hand stretched out, pointing to all the gizmos and gadgets.
“It’s complicated.” The answer didn’t appease her and she crossed her arms, clearly not pleased with the response. He took the cigar out of his mouth and walked back over to the mini-bar. He opened the bottle of tequila and refilled his drink then held up the bottle, offering her another as well.
She shook her head. “No thank you. I have to get going soon.”
He nodded. “I know. I had a feeling you wouldn’t be here long.” With glass and cigar in hand, he made his way over to a smooth, brown-leather seat and sat down. He rested the drink on a wooden side table made from dark oak. “That tequila,” he said pointing at the glass, “is the smoothest I have ever found. And I have certainly tried my fair share on this planet.” He laughed momentarily. “It’s made from pure blue agave. Very rare. Usually very expensive.”
“I don’t care about the tequila, Father. What are you doing with all this stuff?”
Her directness failed to dishevel the old man. “I work for myself,” he said as he took another puff off the cigar, chasing it with a sip of the golden tequila.
“What do you mean?” she stepped forward and turned a desk chair around, sitting in it backwards while she interrogated him with an unwavering glare.
He stared at the end of the cigar for a moment, watching the smoke flow smoothly from the tip and flitter into the air. “There are many bad people in this world, Adriana. Too many for governments or police to find.” He paused for a moment and took another drink. “I find them.”
Chapter 55
The priest looked up into James’ eyes, kneeling on the stone floor of the Iglesia de San Blas. There was no fear in the old man’s eyes. His wrinkled face was stern, clearly casting rebuke upon those who disturbed the sanctity of his church.
James held a gun in one hand, giving an unspoken threat that would demand answers. “Where did they go?” he asked plainly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the priest answered bitterly.
This caused James to raise his voice. “The people who were in here earlier! Where did they go?” He shouted the last part.
Resolve filled the face of the priest. His white hair and beard were a stark contrast to the black robe he wore. “Most of our patrons are gone after the evening prayers,” he spoke honestly but in a firm voice.
“These were not patrons, old man! There was a group of men who came in here an hour ago. Where are they?” This time, James held up the gun to the priest’s head.
“Ah,” he said after a moment of thought. “You must be talking about the group who searching for the map of Padre Crespi.” He left the sentence hanging.
“Yes. Where did they go?”
“I’m not sure,” he said with a sinister sounding chuckle. “But I can tell you for certain, this is not Carlos Crespi’s church.”
“What do you mean?” Angela struck the old man across the face with the butt of her gun.
The blow shocked the old man momentarily. A thin cut opened high on his cheek and began oozing blood down his face. James just stared as did all the other men in the group. The priest looked down at the ground for a few seconds before looking up into the woman’s eyes. “I do not know where the people are whom you seek. But if they were in here, perhaps they got out through the secret tunnel below the building.”
“Secret tunnel?” she asked impatiently.
“Yes. There are old passageways that lead out of the church. It is possible that they left through one of those if they knew where to find the entrance.”
“Where does the passage end?”
“A few thousand meters due west of the church,” he answered calmly. His breathing had intensified, though. Obviously, the old man wasn’t used to any sort of physical punishment.
James glanced at his partner. The old man was being honest. But he still hadn’t answered the original question so James decided to take a different approach.
“Where is Crespi’s church, Padre? The people who we are looking for represent a great evil. If they find what they are looking for, the world will be in great peril. Many souls will perish.” He stared hard at the priest while he spoke. The voice carried conviction. “We are doing the will of the Lord, Father.”
The priest glared at him. “Does the will of the Lord mean spilling blood in his house?” he asked as his hand motioned to the dead body a few rows over.